The script was read/played by:
Narrator: Me
Cannonby: Shetland McAngus
Carmarthen Bevan: Me
Boris: Dafydd Evans
*****
The Remarkable Doings of Cannonby
Boris Remembers...
Narrator
Having encountered and befriended the spirit of ancient viking Ivan Oleinme, the impulsive Cannonby has ordered his crew to set sail for Vinehaven, a lush and verdant utopian citadel, world renowned for its numerous and delicious berries and other such titbit delicacies. The Sodden Calamity cleaves through the seas like a rocket-propelled butter knife through melted margarine. Cannonby, ever impatient, is champing at the bit to reach their destination, despite having next to no knowledge of Vinehaven. It therefore falls upon the more knowledgeable, or at least the less idiotic, members of his entourage to clue him in on the very real dangers of Vinehaven...
CNBY: Where's the bit? I am eager to champ upon it.
BVN: It's just a turn of phrase Captain, there's no bit on this vessel which you can champ upon.
CNBY: Nonsense, this is my ship, I'll champ upon whichever bit I please.
BVN: Oh, suit yourself.
BORIS: Are we truly headed to Vinehaven?
BVN: Yes, definitely. Once the Captain gets something into his brain, it is damn near impossible to dislodge it.
BORIS: I am apprehensive about this endeavor... Vinehaven isn't the easy, grape-filled target I assume you are assuming it to be.
BVN: Yes, I've heard only forbidding accounts of expeditions to the citadel.
BORIS: Though I've not heard them, I can tell you with 100% certainty that they are all true. Every last one of them.
BVN: What? Even the one about the 11 footed bionic cockerel?
BORIS: Especially the one about the 11 footed bionic cockerel.
BVN: Zounds! Terrors of the cockerel haunt me in every sleeping moment!
BORIS: There is worse than the cockerel in Vinehaven comrade. It is time for you all to gather around and hear of my ominous anecdote. I urge you all to listen. Captain?
BVN: Cannonby, come away from that bit this instant!
CNBY: Alackaday, Bevan! You can take the champ out for a bit, but you can't stop me champing at the bit!
BVN: Please listen Captain, it is of vital importance to the upcoming mission.
CNBY: If you insist Bevan, but if this exemplum is less than exemplary I will make an example out of you all! With my fist!
BORIS: Fear not comrade, this will be the most terror-inducing tale that may ever pass your ears and beat its baneful rhythm upon your ears...
CNBY: Boris, my teeth would be chattering if I wasn't about to sink them into a bit and begin to champ.
BVN: The Captain is an admirably single-minded individual...
BORIS: Okay my intimates, strap yourself into the crazy train, we are about to chug our way to terror!
CNBY: What in the name of Solid Snake's vulgar moustache is a train?
BVN: Oh, bin bags. How easily sidetracked we are...
BORIS: Focus! Here is with to set the scene. And then I will let you know of the unknowable horrors of Vinehaven.
BORIS: The grand spire of Vinehaven stabs triumphantly into the open skies, perched atop the gargantuan botanic citadel, creeping vines and other natural growths adorn the terrific surface of the citadel, as though nature itself had hewn the structure from the heart of the planet, a foreboding testament to the might of nature...
CNBY: So it's a giant tree?
BORIS: (sharply) It is so much more than a giant tree! Foolish adventurers are tempted towards the bastion by the promise of ripe fruits and perfectly aged wine, and they are brought low by the insidious guardians of the fortress.
CNBY: But it's still only a giant tree?
BORIS: The defenses of Vinehaven are manifold: you can be trampled by a phalanx of interlocking elephant-woodlice...
BVN: Giant granny grays?
BORIS: You can be cut clean in half by a katana-sharp giganto blade of grass...
BVN: I was waiting for a pun.
BORIS: or you could even be smooshed flat by a giant centipede stampede...
BVN: and now rhyming aswell. Boris, did any of these catastrophes befall you on your trip to Vinehaven?
BORIS: Niet comrade Carmarthen, I was never with a group foolish enough to venture into Vinehaven, not until now.
BVN: No, fair play, on a foolishometer we would certainly score quite highly.
BORIS: Not even in my time with Bludonna Snow would we have ventured into Vinehaven.
BVN: Well there're no seals to be had in a heavily wooded area.
BORIS: In Vinehaven, even seals are possible.
BVN: Man alive...
CNBY: Talking of giant trees, do you know? I used to be a lumberjack!
BVN: Only you are talking about trees.
CNBY: Oh, trees! In those days I could easily bring down a giant redwood quicker than you could say "Llanfairpwllgwingyllchwindrobwyllllantysiliwchgogogoch". Quite a lengthy process, I think you'd agree. They used to call me 'The Cutter'. Peables "The Cutter" Cannonby I was. Which was strange because we used saws. Of course, after that I took up the axe. If you've got that sort of nickname, the least you can do is live up to it. But I got too good, the atmosphere in the camp changed. All the other lumberjacks were jealous of my axe-wielding abilities. It got so tense that you could cut the air with an axe. Which I did. I had to beat a hasty retreat after that fiasco, and no mistake.
BORIS: Are we still talking about Vinehaven.
CNBY: Boris, Boris, Boris. As delightful as your gums are when they are a-flapping, I am through with chitter-chatter this evening. You need to rest your crazy head and prepare for the morrow.
BORIS: What is the plan for tomorrow?
BVN: Tomorrow we are going to beach at the Zanar Sands...
CNBY: And then directly onward to Vinehaven, where we'll stomp seven kinds of stomp out of any swollen critters than grumble into our path. I hold no truck with nature Boris, do you know why?
BORIS: Why?
CNBY: Because it's always anthropormorphised as a mother. Mother Nature. And you know what I found out about mothers?
BORIS: What?
CNBY: They're awful at arm-wrestling!
BORIS: I don't see what that's got to do with----
CNBY: (interrupting) Hush up Boris! Onwaaaard!
Narrator
And so, despite warnings regarding elephant-woodlice, giant centipede stampedes, deadly grass katanas and 11 footed bionic cockerels, the Sodden Calamity ploughs resolutely onward. Directed by the wayward resolution of Captain Cannonby, the crew brace themselves for what hardships await them in the grassy knolls of Vinehaven. With the beach landing at Zanar Sands looming on the horizon, the crew's resilience will surely be tested to the limits. A lot of trouble to go to for a little spot of grape and pillage, eh? Keep abreast of the adventures of the crew, in the next haphazard instalment, of The Tales of Cannon-by!
*****
There'll be another post up before this weekend, so I'll leave all the pluggings until then.
Apart from this one!
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